


Iteration Algorithm Terminated

by KissMyAsh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asphyxiation, Childhood, Genderfluid Pidge | Katie Holt, Multi, Past Torture, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, Polyamorous Voltron Paladins, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It, Underage Substance Use, polydin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24419854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAsh/pseuds/KissMyAsh
Summary: Death and the following consequences were widely feared amongst the human race. Religion, monetary value, and even social status were rendered moot in wake of expiry. And well, Pidge wasn’t special. No amount of intelligence could halt the ever-looming knowledge of imminent destiny. In fact, from the moment their feet left Earth’s soil, the percentage of not returning had been exponentially high. At the time it had all seemed so inconsequential, something that could be minutes or years away couldn’t deter them from their mission. Pidge liked to think they had a leg up on the competition; being an atheist born into a family of scientists meant that they dwelt on facts and relied on logic that had been tested and proven. So, there was a few things about death that they knew very well. An entire history saved and put neatly away into files inside of their brain. But that was neither here nor now because the truth of the matter was that they were dying, and no amount of second-hand trivia facts would help them.A Pidge!Fix-it, sort of.
Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Hunk/Keith/Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro, Keith/Pidge | Katie Holt, Matt Holt & Pidge | Katie Holt, Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro
Kudos: 12





	Iteration Algorithm Terminated

Death and the following consequences were widely feared among the human race. Religion, monetary value, and even social status were rendered moot in wake of expiry. And well, Pidge wasn’t special. No amount of intelligence could halt the ever-looming knowledge of imminent destiny. In fact, from the moment their feet left Earth’s soil, the percentage of not returning had been exponentially high. At the time it had all seemed so inconsequential, something that could be minutes or years away couldn’t deter them from their mission. Pidge liked to think they had a leg up on the competition; being an atheist born into a family of scientists meant that they dwelt on facts and relied on logic that had been tested and proven. So, there was a few things about death that they knew very well. An entire history saved and put neatly away into files inside of their brain. But that was neither here nor now because the truth of the matter was that they were dying, and no amount of second-hand trivia facts would help them.

_It could be worse_ ; their muddled brain whispers and they are inclined to agree.

They had completed many accomplishments. Lived through nightmares big and small. Saved their father and brother, and for that they could rest easy. Admittedly, this wasn’t quite the way they expected to go out. While in an intergalactic war, light-years away from Earth and piloting semi-sentient alien technology in an imbalanced fight for freedom it was only natural to assume their death would be a horrific one. Ah, but then, those were optimistic thoughts, weren’t they? When had they started romanticizing death, they wondered? Late night thoughts of dying like a martyr. Like a hero. Well, that kind of ending would be too good for them, they knew. In the end, those pointless dreams were overzealous in comparison to the truth. Because death was never one to cater for the whims of the living.

_It was a little like Schrodinger’s Box_ , they mused. _The paladin was alive until they were confirmed otherwise._ They weren’t sure anyone would get the joke. Hunk, maybe. Though it was doubtful he’d see the humor in it. He had always been sensitive.

Human error, it seems, was a minuscule calculation that was easily overlooked and always the most dangerous. Pidge _knew that_ , they knew it, acknowledged it, and still fell for it. They should have been smarter or less confident. Planning was their niche, the place where they were infallible. They were paranoid at best and downright distrustful at their worst and always looked before they leapt. So how had it gone so _wrong_?

Simple, simple, simple. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in, grab the files, retreat. So simple. So, where had they failed? Ah, that’s right. The extraction. It had been smooth sailing up until they reached the airlock where Lance should have been waiting to catch them. And there, that had been their downfall. They had _trusted_ Lance to catch them. They had _trusted_ that the thousands-of-years-old Altean suit would preform without failure. They had _trusted_ in their own ability to shake the trail of foot soldiers that had followed them into the tight space.

None of it went according to plan, of course, or else they wouldn’t be free-floating through space, the lack of air in their lungs becoming more apparent with each passing tick. Even more apparent, was the absence of a red lion coming to their rescue.

They weren’t a genius for nothing and had adapted to their situation accordingly. Their helmet malfunctioned thanks to a stray shot as the airlock opened and sent both themselves and the small squadron of Galra into space. Once it became apparent that their oxygen supply had been rendered null, they had heavily exhaled making sure that every speck of air had vacated their lungs. Thankfully the suit itself hadn’t been punctured, so they didn’t have to worry about exploding. Suffocation, however, hung heavy on their brain. And lungs, but they didn’t want to waste what time they had remaining being sarcastic. It wasn’t like they could have used their bayard for assistance, either. By the time they had regained their wits they had been expelled too far from the Galra ship to hope for an anchor. And with no sign of Lance…

They had two-minutes. Two excruciating long yet short minutes before they would black out from oxygen-deprivation. That wasn’t enough time! They had so much left to do. They didn’t want to die or think about death and the _nothingness_ that came after.

_That was the scary part_ , panic was setting in, _nothing comes after_. There was no proof or heaven, or nirvana, and everyone knew reincarnation was just a hippie smoke dream. They’d even prefer hell, or limbo, _something_. Pidge was fearful that they would forget, or rather become unaware of what they struggled and fought for. Every dream and ambition as good as gone. They would cease to be themselves and the worst part is they wouldn’t even know when it happened. Just that it would.

Frost was beginning to creep across the glass of their visor. They had lost track of the time between loosing feeling in their fingers and the start of their macabre thoughts. They were dying and they didn’t have a say in it.

But that, _that,_ the remaining ounce of childish naivete that had clung on for all these years cried, _wasn’t fair_. They had done so much good and they could continue to do so! So much was left to say, to do, to be and Pidge wasn’t ready to give that up. They would do more, they promised to the cold void, anything, if they were rescued in time.

_Please_ … They could feel their chapped lips sliding against one another, muted and breathless. _Just one more chance_. Their fingers ached. Maybe, if they could just activate the holo-screen in their left gauntlet, they could make a connection. Send out an S.O.S or a set of co-ordinates. Lance couldn’t be far; any delays would have been dealt with by now, surely.

_Unless…_ No, Lance wouldn’t. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and was the ever-winning hero Pidge themselves wished they could be. He wouldn’t abandon them. He could never forget about them. He wouldn’t have left them behind. They repeated that mantra like a prayer. It did nothing to stop what remained of their body heat from crawling up their neck to settle behind their eyes. They would blame the blurry vision on the ice, or from the asphyxiation.

_Green. The Green Lion._ They were still needed, still useful to the cause. The remaining paladins had to come for them. _But a paladin is replaceable._ Matt could lead Green in their absence. Would be a better pilot, too. He was their equal in intelligence. Or as close to it as he could get. And best of all, he actually been trained to fly, had put in the effort to be a pilot. They had simply gotten in on a give-away. An up-for-grabs alien warship that assigned themselves thanks to the color-coded shirts they happened to be wearing. Besides, green had always been Matt's’ favorite color. Purple was more their speed, or at least it had been. Now, they connected purple to _danger_ or _caution_.

It was almost relaxing. They moments before death, that is. When there was nowhere else to run and _acceptance_ was the only path left to travel it was easy to let their mouth slip open, gasping for air that they wouldn’t receive. Numb shocks of pain tingled a trail from her toes to the roots of their hair. Their body flailed, as they predicted it would. It would only increase their heart-rate, which in turn would reach for more oxygen which wasn’t there. But it’s not like they could fight it.

Once they gave in, however, it felt nice. Their tongue started to swell, and it felt like cotton balls had been stuffed into their ears, but it was nice all the same. A much-enjoyed reprieve from the sensation-less cry of space. Slowly, feeling began anew. They still couldn’t move their body, nor were they truly aware of it, but a feeling of _safety_ and _warmth_ had branched out from their navel; it gushed from their rib-cage and spewed down their veins warming up previously frozen viscera.

Was this _it_? What people prophesied and feared? If so, man, had they all been wrong.

And hey! They still had a coherent train of thought, so that was a saving grace. Or maybe it would be their downfall. A few several centuries of only themselves could be detrimental. Perhaps they would drive themselves insane? Slowly whittle away at their sanity and coherence until they there a shell of what they used to be.

Thoughts for later, no doubt there.

For now, it was only fair that they would be allowed to soak in the feeling of _security_. It was rare that they got to feel it, between puberty and war. They could remember that every waking moment was a rush of adrenaline and exhaustion and anxiety—and so much more. There was never enough time to relax when they had so much to do. A break was well-deserved, they decided.

And when they woke up, they would deal with the impending existential crisis that loomed over their sore body. Reboot their brain then figure out what to do. Now was a time for rest. And Pidge was tired.

Very, very tired. 


End file.
